


Where Trouble Melts like Lemon Drops

by imaginary_iby



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: F/M, Ohana, friendship to romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_iby/pseuds/imaginary_iby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After crashing into each other in the gardening-department at Lowes, Cath and Chin bond as they try to keep a beloved part of Chin's past alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Trouble Melts like Lemon Drops

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've written this pairing, so I'm still finding my feet. :) I listened to a lot of Israel Kamakawiwo'ole's cover of Somewhere Over the Rainbow, while writing this, so that's where the title comes from. 
> 
> \- A big thanks to Chris, for looking this over. :)

O’ahu may be a small island, but Lowe’s is a big store, so Cath’s not really prepared to round the corner into the gardening department and smack straight into Chin. He’s staring furiously at a wall of foliar fungicide sprays, as though he has to choose between cutting the red wire and the blue.

“Cath,“ he greets, shuffling an alarming stack of plumeria-related pamphlets in his hands. 

“Chin, hey.” She offers a smile, but she’s kind of rushed and not fit for company, decked out in ratty sweatpants and is that… yes, that’s yoghurt she’s spilled down the front of her tank top. It’s not that she’s not happy to see him, but it’s 8am on a Sunday morning, and she just wants her bean-seedlings.

It’s only as she’s planning her polite extraction, that she really notices just how tense Chin looks. He’s gripping the pamphlets like they’re a tether to life, and the creases on his normally smooth face are deep and upset.

“Everything okay?”

Chin nods, but Cath isn’t buying it for a second. A staring competition ensues, two trained interrogators trying to outlast the other. “Chin?” she prompts, because she’s tired and worried.

The sky-high shelf of plant-spray looms over them, and Chin turns to face it, angry. “I have a… a plant, at home. I think it has some kind of fungus, it needs help. I’m trying to save it.”

 _Save it?_ Cath wonders at the peculiar word-choice, but the hunch of Chin’s shoulders tells her that he’s said all he will, he’s clammed up tight. It only takes a second of detective-work to deduce that the plant in question is a plumeria.

“Well,” she says, averting her gaze, staring studiously at the shelves to give him the privacy he obviously needs. “I happen to know a thing or two about plants. And I love plumeria.”

“You do?” He relaxes his grip on the pamphlets. “Didn’t know you were a gardener. Painter, yes, gardener, no.”

Cath smiles, decisively selecting a copper-based fungicide that she knows and trusts. “Most of my life, having a garden has been an unattainable luxury. Now that I’m settled, I have big plans for my house. Here.” She presses the spray-bottle to his chest. “This one should help.”

Chin looks at it as though it’s an alien invention, and, yes, the nozzle may be a little complicated, but if he can work his way around a sniper rifle, he can work his way around this.

Still, Cath takes pity on him, if for no other reason than he looks sad. “Do you want me to stop by, take a look? See if it is a fungus? Their leaves can be affected by rust, mold, lots of things, really.”

Chin tucks the spray under his arm. “No.” The word is sharp, and leaves no room for argument. “No. Thank you. I appreciate your help. Have a good day.” 

And with that, he marches off. 

What a weird morning.

\- 

It’s barely a week later that Chin knocks on her office door. HQ is dark and quiet for the night, and Cath hadn’t even realized that she wasn’t alone.

“Chin, hey, come in.”

Chin takes three quick, almost soldier-like steps into the room, and then hesitates. This isn’t him, this isn’t like him, and the only other time she’s seen him act like this was in Lowe’s. She hasn’t asked about the plant, because on Monday morning Chin had all but dived behind Danny’s couch when she’d walked into work.

For a man who can weather any storm, hiding is a sure sign that he doesn’t want to talk about it.

Until now, it seems. He pulls the plant-spray’s instruction manual from the depths of his jeans pocket. It’s curled and crinkled, as though it’s been read from cover to cover, every word agonized over.

“It’s not working, is it?” she asks.

He shakes his head, and a flicker of the most unbearable ache passes across his face.

“No,” he says, softly. “No. It’s dying.”

\- 

Gardening in the dark is nigh on impossible, so Cath drives over to his house the next morning, thankful for bright sunny skies and a gentle breeze.

“Thanks for coming,” Chin says, meeting her at her car. “It’s out the back.” He hooks his thumb over his shoulder. There’s little in the way of superfluous pleasantries, but Cath doesn’t need them.

She follows behind as they head through the side-gate, taking the opportunity to look around. The garden is cared for, but overgrown, obviously in the hands of someone who’s not really sure what they’re doing, and doesn’t have much time in the first place.

Except, that is, for the large potted plumeria that sits in pride of place, half tucked into the shade of the lanai. A garden table is placed beside it, upon which rests Chin’s phone, his tablet, a book, and a steaming cup of tea. It looks like he’s set up shop outside, as though round-the-clock observation can will the plant to keep living.

The pieces fall into place.

The pot is beautiful, large and round with a gently curved lip. A creamy white undercoat forms the foundation of the colour, but it can barely be seen, hidden beneath an array of children’s hand-prints. Blues and reds and greens, tiny fingers that have dunked in paint and then splodged onto the ceramic. 

Clunky but heartfelt letters are scrawled between the prints, notes of affection: _Mahalo, Doctor M,_ and _You’re the bestest doctor ever!_ , even a solemn, _In memory of little Josie. Thank you Doctor Waincroft._

“It was a birthday gift,” Chin says softly. “Some of her patients decorated it. They bought this ragged, scrawny little plumeria seedling, tended to it, and then potted it for her. Some of these kids have passed away, since then. And now…” Chin trails off.

And now, the plant is dying, too. 

It’s big, obviously quite a few years old, but it’s ill, the leaves withered and speckled. The one flower that has managed to emerge is fragile, as though even the weight of being looked at is a burden it cannot carry.

“I’ve tried everything.” Chin presses his hand to his face, but it’s a fleeting movement, before he steels his resolve, packs himself away in his little cage of strength. “But every day, it just looks worse.”

Cath doesn’t really know what to say. She’d come over expecting an unusual morning, but not to be faced with such raw grief. Chin is a good man and a great team-member, but their friendship is still so new. 

Unsure, but desperate to give comfort, she presses her hand to his shoulder, hoping to transfer warmth to his skin. “Don’t give up, Chin.”

He swallows, adam’s apple bobbling as though his throat hurts.

“Don’t give up,” she repeats. “Would Malia have given up on any of her patients?”

Cath doesn’t know if saying Malia’s name is wise, but Chin seems to take comfort, because he shakes his head, resolute. Grief turns to determination.

“No. She never gave up on anybody. Least of all me.”

Cath smiles. It’s then that she notices that Chin’s tablet is open to a page of plumeria-care. She picks it up, beginning to scroll through reams of information. “Come on. If anybody can research this, if anybody can find the answer, it’s us.”

-

After years in the Navy, Cath is familiar with routine and order. But _this_ routine, thrice-weekly check-ups on a potted-plant, this one takes the cake. It’s as precise as a Recruit Division Commander’s wet-dream, a strict composition of plant-food, organic fertilizer, and the most expensive potting mix known to mankind. The days are broken down into percentages of sunshine and shade, and more than once a week one of them has to run home to shift the pot out of the rain.

It’s working, though. Slowly but surely, it’s working. The leaves are still mottled, probably beyond help, but new sprigs are slowly growing, strong and boldly green. 

Visiting when Chin isn’t here, visiting when he doesn’t even know she’s here… well, that’s the first break in their routine. But she has a key, now, and she doesn’t think he’d mind. Sure enough, when footsteps fall behind her, the only thing he says is a surprised and happy, “Hey.”

“Hey,” she bubbles back, because it’s nice to see him smile. “Sorry. I was nearby, thought I’d check up on it.”

“It’s coming along really well. Yeah?”

She smiles, always at the ready to bolster his confidence regarding the plant’s health. “Yeah, it’s looking really good. I don’t want to speak too soon, but I think you may have done it, Chin.”

Chin comes to rest beside her, and it’s good, easy and friendly, the way they stand close to each other now. “Don’t sell yourself short. _We_ did it.”

\- 

There comes a day, a bittersweet day, when she really doesn’t need to visit Chin’s house anymore. The plant has gone from strength to strength, shedding all traces of illness, and it feels like it gets taller and more colorful with every ray of sunshine. 

But, the thing is, she has this pizza that needs eating, and beers that need drinking - and when she thinks of company, she thinks of Chin.

He’s inside when she gets there, staring gormlessly into the fridge.

“Food?” she asks sunnily, as though it isn’t weird to just wander into his kitchen. Maybe it isn’t.

“Oh man, thank you, yes.” He grabs for the pizza, and Cath doesn’t know where he got his quietly refined reputation from, because the man is an _animal._

-

History repeats itself, when Chin smacks into Cath at the garden department in Lowe’s. Gone is the awkwardness of months prior, now Chin’s smile is bright enough to rival the sun.

“Hey!” he says cheerily, moving into her orbit, as is his habit. “What’re you doing here?”

Cath lifts her arms, displaying a bundle of paint supplies. “Thought I’d re-do the living room, mix things up a bit. I can’t decide what color, though.”

Chin’s already off, coaxing her along with a hand to the small of her back. “Come on, let’s have a look, I’ll help. I have it on good authority from Gracie that my house is pretty hip.”

Chin, as it turns out, has very strong feelings about purple. It shouldn’t be a surprise, really, she’s seen glances of the bookshelves in his bedroom. At first it seems too strong for her little house, but once he starts talking about pairing it with white, she’s sold.

They leave Lowe’s with so many pans and brushes and cans of paint that she has no choice but to pile into Chin’s SUV, her ‘vette not spacious enough to haul home their loot. It’s a quick trip to her house, and Chin knows all the best shortcuts, so they make it home with plenty of time to start.

He tuts when he walks inside. “You’ve already cleaned the walls. You should’ve called me. I’ve just been-“ he cuts himself off, his complexion doing its best to hide an endearing blush.

Cath has a sense of what he was going to say, anyway. He’s just been whiling away the weekend hours, and she’s just been wanting to call him. With the rest of the team away, Honolulu is theirs and theirs alone.

“I know,” she admits, because, well, it’s true. “You can help now? We can order pizza. But no touching the walls with grubby pineapple-hands, I know what you’re like.”

Chin’s eyebrow rises impressively, before he booms out a laugh. 

The room is almost finished by the time their tummy-rumblings can be heard over the radio, the strums and beats of Elvis washing over the whole house.

“Just.” Cath scrunches her nose beneath her blue scratchy mask. The smell of paint makes her feel funny, which is information Chin is instructed never to divulge, under threat of death. “Just got to.” Ugh, she’s almost finished this corner, but her nose is so damn itchy, it’s throwing off her concentration. “Got to finish.”

“Here,” Chin says, and Cath didn’t know that he was so close. He cups her elbow in his hand, helping her stand from where she’d been awkwardly curled near the baseboards. Warm fingers tug her mask down a little, and then he scratches the curve of her skin, when nose meets cheek. “Better?”

Better? Bliss, more like. It takes every ounce of strength not to purr like a cat. “Yes, thank you.”

Chin leans in, slowly, intention clear. It’s only as their noses bump that they both remember she still has her mask on, and she can only drop her head to his shoulder and laugh. “I’m usually smoother than that. Promise.”

“Me too,” Chin says, his words rumbling, making her shiver. “Take two?”

They tear the mask off, and then he’s leaning in and kissing her, hot and just a little bit dirty. He kisses with confidence, hands framing her face as he sucks on her bottom lip, and she can’t help but feel a little twist of victory when he’s the first to break away for breath. 

She gives back as good as she gets, nibbling along his jaw, and when he moans she catalogues the sound as one she wants to hear, day after day.

-

The kitchen is cold, winter and a cloudy sunrise doing its best to keep the temperature low. Cath shivers, wishing she was wearing more than her underwear and a shirt – but it’s Chin’s shirt, so she’s happy, and she snuggles down into whatever warmth it has to give.

The potted plumeria sits proudly in front of the kitchen window, strong and tall, buds not long away from unfurling into twirls of white and yellow. The sight of it makes her smile, and she idly spoons yoghurt into a bowl.

She only realizes that Chin is behind her when he presses against her back, hands sliding over her hips, across her belly, one settling suggestively low between her thighs. 

He rumbles a happy noise against the curve of her shoulder. “Morning.” 

“Morning.” She rests her head back against his shoulder, and they regard the plumeria together. “It’ll need to be planted soon, you know. It’s too big for the pot.”

Chin flinches, as though the thought of separating pot and plant is unacceptable, before bleeding tension until he’s a puddle against her back. “I know.”

-

“Come on, Steve,” Kono orders, smirking. “Put some muscle into it!”

Steve glowers, wiping sweat off his face before going back to digging into the ground. After a morning of pontificating on the proper way to handle a shovel, Danny had finally thrust it into his grasp with a firm, “You do it, then.”

Chin is busy tenderly extricating the plumeria from its pot. Cath tries to keep an eye on him, while still giving him space. Every now and then he smoothes his fingertips over the children’s hand-prints, and it makes her heart ache with love and sorrow.

It’s hard to feel gloomy for long – not with Max teaching Grace about earthworms, Danny running around like a hectic hen whenever she touches a wriggly critter. 

Soon enough, the hole is dug, and Cath whistles, getting everybody’s attention. “Okay! Since the tree is so big, we’ve got to fill up the hole with water. Gracie, honey, can you get the hose?”

Grace is off like a shot, and Cath may be fit as a fiddle but she still marvels at 11 year old sprightliness. It doesn’t take long for the hole to fill, and then Chin and Danny grip the tree, shuffling it from pot to ground. Gently, gently, they lower it down, nestling it centrally and holding it steady as many hands begin to scoop nutrient-rich soil around its roots and base. Once the tree is stable and planted, there is a collective happy-sigh, everybody standing back to inspect their handiwork.

Cath reaches out, a subtle movement to most, but a siren-song to Chin. He shifts by her side and curls his fingers between hers. 

“We did it,” he says.

-

Cath is happy to be home. Three weeks away has taken its toll, and while she’s glad that Chin stayed to take care of his suddenly-ill mother, she’s disappointed that he didn’t get to meet her parents like they’d planned.

She decides not to go to her own house, directing the taxi straight to Chin’s. He would’ve picked her up, any of them would have been happy to do so, but it’s three in the morning and she knows they’ve just broken a case.

The porch-light flicks on as she makes her way up the path, and it’s only because she drops her keys that she notices the two pots that frame the front door. One is familiar and precious, covered in children’s hand-prints.

The other is new. It’s stark white, with strong purple trim, just like the paint in her living room. She’s surprised to find that her name is scrawled atop the lip in sloping cursive, and even in the dark she can recognize Chin’s handwriting. 

A plumeria seedling rests safely in the middle, fragile and tiny, but full of potential for the future.

The front door opens, and Chin rests against the frame, lids heavy and hair sleep-mussed. He smiles, reaching out to draw her inside. “Welcome home.”


End file.
